The Call of War
by theonlyguywithoutabrain
Summary: No one can escape war. Conflicts will exist as long as people will exist. This is the truth that Grimwolf slowly realizes as he battles Alliance forces in order to answer the Spirits' last call: the Call of War!


Hey guys! I have decided to remove my previous stories to switch the pace and emotion. I have been disappointed as of late. Why? Because of the lack of violence in stories. _Lack of violence? Is this guy CRAZY?! _Why no, I am not. But there was never a story that told about a war in gruesome detail. This is my newest story, 'The Call of War', based on World of Warcraft (a game I do not play frequently anymore, mind you). Oh, and for those of you folks who go on the , it is _I_, I)eadNerzhul, in the 'flesh', if you will. Just to cause no confusion for those of you hive users out there.

**The Call of War…**

A Warcraft story,

By theonlyguywithoutabrain (truthfully, I don't have one!)

**Chapter One: In the Gulch**

Why have the Spirits brought me here... to the Gulch of Warsong, in Ashenvale? I have answered their Calls before, but those were of the Elements... Earth, Fire, Water, and Air...

"It is the Call of War, Grimwolf," said Gar'gal, my Orcish companion who favors combat over knowledge. "You're a wise Orc, and a wise Shaman on top of that!"

"The Call of War? Have you gone mad, Gar'gal?" I asked him.

"I think not. But why wouldn't the Spirits-" he began, only to be interrupted by a loud horn. It was deafening, and all around us Horde warriors-Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren-charged down the hillside of Warsong.

"CHARGE!" he shouted. They were hungry, I could sense it. They had an instatiable bloodlust waiting to be satisfied. I had mounted my black war-wolf and had followed the mob North, towards Silverwing Hold.

"TO THE HOLD! LET NO ALLIANCE MEMBER STOP YOU! KILL ALL IN YOUR PATH! CHARGE!" shouted Gar'gal, one of the Horde's High Warlords, and the one incharge of the operation. We were to simply destroy the Hold, and steal their resources. Although when we got to the foot of the Hold, things did not look so simple. A line of Night Elves, bows strung, stood there. One had her hand raised, which meant a volley of arrows was about to be let loose.

The Night Elf lowered her hand and put it to her blade, and her sisters let go of their arrows. I was nervous, for the Spirits were telling me that many of my brothers were falling. But I did not care. I continued forward, a wolf amongst hounds, ever-ready to answer the Spirits' final call: the Call of War.

The Warsong Outriders overran the Night Elves' line of defense, and had dispatched them easily by trampling them. More Elves had fallen out of the Hold, and had slowly begun to match our numbers. One of them, a male (which was a rare sight in any Elvish army) had attempted to strike me with his blade. I let his sword penetrate my chest, and I had grinned at him malignantly. I pulled it out, and stuck my bear-claw into his chest, and ripped out his heart. I watched him squirm and suffer until the lights left his eyes. My wound was quickly rejuvenated by the Spirits' healing powers of Water, and I had re-entered the fray.

The rush was remarkable. The feeling of shoving my blade into an enemy was more than satisfying-it was like a gift from the Great Spirits themselves. But the Night Elves were able to push us back, to force us to retreat back to the foot of the Silverwing Hold. Despite this, the Outriders were persistent, and reinforcements kept coming. In my heart, however, I knew that the battle for Warsong Gulch was coming to a dreadful end…

Things were looking worse and worse for my brothers and I. I had sensed much death and chaos, on both sides. But there was just too many of them... too many Elves about! I dug my blades into their filthy purple backs and chests, but for each one fallen, another ran down into the gulch and replaced him. The Spirits began to tell me to retreat... but I could not listen to them. Once the wolf tastes a drop of blood, he is sent into a frenzy, and only death can stop him...

...Unfortunately, death came to someone I hold dear to me. I sensed an arrow flying towards Gar'gal, but before I could urge him to move out the way, it hit him, and he fell. I whispered a prayer under my breath, and I continued the battle.

In the end, we could not hold them off... only a handful of us remained. Gorshfang, an Orcish hunter, Garmohk and Nartuh, two Tauren warriors, and I stood back to back, facing the Elvish onslaught.

"Come closer, Elves! Let me impale you on my horns! Let me rip your puny little arms off!" shouted Garmohk. Bows were strung, and arrows were pointed towards us.

"Brother..." whispered Nartuh, "we cannot take them all... put your weapon down!"

With a grunt and a sigh and an angry face, Garmohk tossed his massive battle-axe onto the ground. Gorshfang lowered his bow, and an Elf approached us.

"So, you thought you could defeat the might of the Elves, eh?" he said with a chuckle.

"No..." I said, spitting on the ground. "I thought I could fry your innards with my lighting, burn off your face with my fire, give you a terrible frostbite with my water, and maul you with the strength of the earth."

"Strong words for someone about to die..."

"If the Spirits wish me to die, so be it. I will return to them gladly, if it is their will."

"Since you prefer to die, I will decide to not grant you your wish. Infact, I will let you suffer alive while I take you and your party to the High Priestess Tyr-"

"Please..." said Garmohk. "I don't want you to waste my entire day sounding out Priestess whatever-the-hell her name is' name."

"How dare you?!" snapped one of the Sentinels.

"Chain them up and load them in the wagons. We journey to Darnasuss!"

A few hours later, night fell over the woods of Ashenvale. The battalion stopped by a bunch of Elvish ruins. The Sentinels scrambled to setup camp, and Grimwolf sat quietly, plotting his escape.

"Alright, we camp here," said the Night Elven leader, sitting down next to a recently ignited fire. "Leave the prisoners in the wagon, make sure it is tied up!"

"At once, captain!" said the Sentinels. They didn't realize it, but just tossing us into a wagon without guarding us would be their downfall. At once we got to work on our escape.

"Alright my brothers... this is our chance! When the Elves go to sleep, we strike! I will show them my knowledge of the elements. Garmohk and Nartuh, you will break the wagon with your mighty arms. Gorshfang, you help me take down the guards. Understand?"

"We are prepared, Grimwolf!" they said together.

"Good! Now rest up. The hour of victory is at hand."

At midnight, we all had waken up and prepared ourselves. Garmohk and Nartuh began to try to break the wagon's wooden walls, it's weakest part. I began to channel a lighting bolt, and Gorshfang strung his bow. I tossed my lightning right at the face of their leader, which had deformed his already-ugly face even more so. Gorshfang fired his bow and hit another Elf in her eye, and the two Tauren and broken the wagon.

"COME FORWARD, YOU COWARDLY ELVES! SPIRITS OF STORM, EARTH, AND FIRE, HEED MY CALL!" Dark clouds loomed above the night sky. Rain began to fall. Thunder and lightning roared and blazed. The earth trembled and opened up, swallowing the Night Elves... alive. Water came and pushed them into a nearby river, where they drowned. The fire was brought to life and stalked the Sentinels like a hawk does to his prey. Arrows flew from our enemies, but were broken by a gust of wind. Gorshfang fired his own arrows, which hit their marks with deadly accuracy. Garmohk and Nartuh sliced, diced, and cleaved their way through the Elvish camp.

As the smoke cleared, as the fire dissipated, as the water evaporated, as the earth closed up, we stood victorious. The bodies of the Elves were at our feet. The Alliance will remember the night they were struck by the sight, sound, smell, and power of the HORDE!


End file.
